It's near midnight as I write this. She and Fiona have snuck up to bed, leaving Daisy in the living room asleep. I'm debating what to do about it. Carry her up, have her fight me all the way up the steps in a half-asleep stupor, and take her all the way to the 3rd floor to bed? Leave her in the living room and risk a freak out at 3 in the morning? After I write this, I'll decide.
We had chicken marsala for dinner--the first time in at least 5 years. That's a sin. We lit a fire in the little fire pit thingy in the backyard, toasted marshmallows.
Using flashlights as spotlights, the three of them put on a circus "show" for me and Jake. Mostly hanging upside down from the swingset.
And then Jake and I sat and stared at the fire and listened to this:
"I want to play like I'm 7 years old and you two are my big sisters."
"I want to play that our parents are dead and I'm raising both of you and I'm 13."
"I want to play that we live in the country and each of us has skills. I want to be able to cook and garden."
"I will take care of fires and babysit and I will still be 13 years old."
"I'm going to be 7--Fiona, how old are you?"
"I'll be 10."
"Ok, and I'm going to be good at, what should I be good at?"
Eventually, I got tired of the negotiation. It was time to get warm and let them settle on something.
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